HOT

Author: Rebelcat

Gen or Slash: Slash!

Warning: Outrageously unprofessional behavior by law enforcement officers.  However, sleeping on stakeout is canon.

Rating: NC-17

Category: Lemon Challenge Fic, Smut

Disclaimer: Sadly, they ain't mine.

Feedback/Critique: Yes, please!

Beta: Thanks to Salieri for the beta, and to Rae for her very useful feedback.

torinosm.jpg

Hot

Heterosexuality is not normal,
it's just common. ~ Dorothy Parker



Hot.

 

Hot, and bored.

 

Hot and bored, and his ass was melting into the seat, and there was something in the back that smelled like it was rotting, and why the hell did they have to use Hutch’s car anyway, when the Torino was at least clean.

 

“Because everyone in this whole damn city knows what your car looks like,” said Hutch.

 

“Stop reading my mind,” growled Starsky.

 

“It’s not mind reading when you’re muttering under your breath.”  Hutch was slouched in the driver’s seat with his knees up against the steering wheel.  “Anyway, this is all your fault.  If you hadn’t destroyed the coffee machine, we could be doing... other things.”

 

“My fault!”

 

Hutch’s face was hidden in shadow, making it impossible to read his expression.  “You deprived our entire department of the fuel we need to function.”

 

“It was already broken and I was just trying to get my money back.  I kicked it very gently,” said Starsky.

 

A woman made her way slowly down the dark street, fanning herself with a folded newspaper.  She was carrying her high heels in one hand, and walked as if her feet were sore.

 

“You made it bleed coffee all over the floor,” said Hutch.

 

A brown sedan turned onto the street and the woman stopped walking.  The car’s suspension was shot, the muffler was sagging and there was dirt caked around the wheel wells.  Starsky grimaced at the obvious neglect.

 

“Who wants coffee in weather like this?”  It was so humid the air felt like warm brackish water.  Starsky could feel sweat trickling down his back, soaking his shirt.  Bay City was supposed to be dry.  It wasn’t supposed to feel like someone had just thrown water on the rocks in the sauna.

 

A streetlight at the end of the road flickered.

 

“Dobey wanted,” began Hutch.

 

“Hey, there’s one!”  The woman had just walked up to the window of the car, and was talking to the driver.

 

“Where?”  Hutch glanced over.  “No.”

 

Starsky paused, his hand on the door.  “What do you mean no?  She’s obviously trying to turn a trick.  Let’s grab her and get out of here.”

 

Filling out paperwork at Parker Center wasn’t Starsky’s idea of a terrific way to spend an evening, but it was better than slowly baking in Hutch’s car.  Maybe he could stop by his apartment, pick up his own coffee maker, and donate it to the squad room.  Dobey would have to forgive him.

 

“That’s Ginger,” said Hutch.  “She’s a single mom with two kids, and she’s doing the best she can.  We’re not busting her tonight.”

 

Starsky threw himself back into his seat, frustrated.  “What the hell are we doing out here?  We’ve seen a grand total of three hookers tonight.”  He began ticking them off his fingers.  “Molly used to be on drugs and you’re afraid that if we bust her she’ll go right back on them.   Patricia’s a nice girl who’s just trying to earn enough money to buy a bus ticket back to her hometown.  Money, which you gave her.  And now Ginger’s a single mom.”

 

“You want to bust a hooker?” asked Hutch.  “Fine, why don’t you go ahead and bust that one.”  A second woman had just joined the first beside the car.

 

“I will!”  Starsky sat up and opened the car door.  He stopped.  “Hey, that’s Alice.  We can’t arrest Alice!”

 

“My point exactly.”

 

Alice and Ginger were both talking to the driver of the car now.  Alice had her hand on Ginger’s arm.

 

Starsky closed the door and propped his sneakers up on the dash.  “So what are we going to do?”

 

“We’re going to sit right here until our shift’s over,” said Hutch.  “Then we’re going to go home.  And if we’re lucky we’ll never get assigned to Vice again.”

 

Alice shook her head and Ginger took a step back from the car.  Starsky saw the driver make a rude gesture and then he pulled away from the curb with a squeal of brakes and a shower of sparks as his muffler hit the cement.

 

“I’m bored,” said Starsky.

 

“Should have thought of that before you broke the coffee machine.”

 

The street was empty now.  Alice and Ginger were gone, no doubt in search of a john with air-conditioning.

 

There was a moth crawling across the windshield.  Starsky couldn’t tell if it was inside or outside, but since it wasn’t his car he decided he didn’t care.  It could go right ahead and build its cocoon in Hutch’s car.  Hutch wouldn’t notice.  And even if he did, he’d probably just give it twenty bucks and a ride to the bus station.

 

Starsky crossed his arms over his chest and slumped down against the door.  He closed his eyes and listened to the cicadas shrieking.  He heard Hutch sigh and shift in his seat, the vinyl creaking.

 

The air was thick inside the car and smelled like gasoline and something rotten.  But he could also smell Hutch, and that wasn’t as bad as all the rest.  A nose-twitching mixture of sweat and aftershave, it reminded Starsky of the night before, the sheets shoved down to the end of the bed, the heat of Hutch’s hands on his hips and...

 

Starsky felt a sharp jab in his ribs.

 

“Hey!”

 

“Wake up,” said Hutch, sternly.  “No sleeping on the job.”

 

“Who says?”

 

“It’s in the manual.  Conduct befitting an officer of the law.”

 

“But we always sleep on stake outs!”

 

“I wasn’t the one who broke the coffee machine.  If anyone’s sleeping tonight, it’s going to be me.”  Hutch leaned forward, searching for something beside his seat.  After a moment, he found the lever and his seat fell down with a thump.  Hutch lay back, his hands folded behind his head.

 

Even if it had been pitch black in the car, Starsky couldn’t have missed the smug attitude Hutch was projecting.  “This is really your fault, you know,” said Starsky.  He wanted to puncture Hutch’s attitude, remind him that he wasn’t always in control.

 

He saw Hutch’s head move to look at him.  My fault?”

 

“If you hadn’t kept me up last night, I wouldn’t have needed that coffee.”  Starsky held his breath.  He didn’t know yet if this was something they could discuss casually.

 

“I kept you up?”  Hutch paused, and then snickered.  “Hey, I guess I did.”

 

Evidently Hutch didn’t share his concerns.  “Asshole.”

 

Hutch pushed himself up onto his elbows.  “It was your idea.”  He paused.  “Are you regretting it now?  I mean, what we did?  Do you wish you hadn’t, um...”

 

“The only thing I regret is that we’re stuck in this lousy car when we could be back at your place doing it again.”  Starsky thumped the dash, frustrated.  “And not that I’m complaining, or anything, but it was definitely your idea.”

 

“My idea?”  Hutch sounded honestly shocked.  “You’re the one who brought over the beer.”

 

“Yeah, but you’re the one who put on that movie, so you could seduce me.”  And hadn’t that been a bolt out of the blue.  Maybe, just possibly, Starsky had thought about it once or twice before, especially that time in the hotel room, but he’d never thought Hutch would take matters in hand like that.  So to speak.

 

“I did not seduce you,” protested Hutch.  “And since when is Seven Brides for Seven Brothers a dirty movie?”

 

“I didn’t say it was dirty.  It’s a date movie.  Why would you put on a date movie, unless you’re – you know, trying to have a date?”

 

“I like the music!”

 

“And there were candles,” Starsky said.  “Why were there candles?”

 

Hutch was silent for a few minutes.  “Why did you bring me flowers?”

 

“Well...  you’re into plants.  I thought you’d like them.  And they seemed to go with the beer.”

 

“Roses and beer.  Right.”

 

“They were nicer than the carnations.  And the lady selling them looked like she really needed the money.  You know she’s got a nephew in the navy?”  Starsky knew his motives had been innocent, which was more than he could say for Hutch with his date movies and sexy candles.

 

“You kissed me first.”

 

“Yeah, but that’s only because you expected me to do it.  So really it was your idea.”  He’d meant to reach past Hutch to turn off the light, because of the way it was reflecting in the TV screen.  But somehow he’d found himself almost on top of Hutch, and then Hutch had looked at him in a way that made his brain fall right down into his pants.

 

“But I only thought you were going to kiss me because of the way you were looking at me earlier,” said Hutch, sounding confused.

 

“You mean like I’m looking at you now?”  Starsky had woken up in Hutch’s bed the next morning, planning to blame it all on the booze.  But Hutch hadn’t accused him of anything.  Had, in fact, acted like it was a perfectly ordinary morning.  Which would seem to imply that he might be open to the idea of doing it again.

 

Starsky saw Hutch’s knee come up, a shadow in the darkness.  “No.  Forget it.”

 

“There’s no one around,” said Starsky.  “C’mon, Hutch, didn’t you ever do it in a car?”

 

“It’s a hundred and twenty degrees in here!  Don’t even think about touching me.”  Hutch tried to sit up.

 

Starsky pushed him back down.  “So what’s a little sweat between friends?”  He traced the tip of his index finger along Hutch’s temple.  Then he licked the salt off of his finger, as seductively as he could.

 

Hutch scratched his forehead irritably.  “Stop that.  We’re supposed to be working Vice, not creating more of it.”

 

“Is there anything in the rules of conduct that says we can’t have sex on duty?”  Starsky followed a line of sweat from Hutch’s cheek down his neck and into the collar of his shirt.  The cloth of Hutch’s shirt felt damp and heavy.

 

“I’d think it would be understood,” began Hutch.

 

Starsky ran a wet finger along Hutch’s bottom lip.  “Tastes pretty good, huh?”

 

Hutch nipped his finger with his teeth.  “I said no.”

 

“But you don’t mean it,” said Starsky confidently.  He undid the top button of Hutch’s shirt.  “If you were serious, I’d be short one finger right now.”

 

Hutch groaned as Starsky undid the next button.  “What if someone sees us?”

 

Starsky pushed Hutch’s knee down.  “No one’s going to see us.  They’re all inside their houses, trying to stay cool.”

 

“We could lose our job,” said Hutch, making no attempt to stop Starsky.

 

Starsky pulled Hutch’s shirt out of his belt.  “But what a way to go, huh?  Lot’s better than getting gunned down like Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid.”

 

“That could happen, too,” said Hutch, hoarsely.

 

Starsky didn’t answer.  He was trying to decide what to do next.  Last night all he’d done was some kissing, a bit of touching, and a whole lot of rubbing – kind of like jerking off, but with two people instead of one.  Starsky laid his palm on Hutch’s chest and felt warm, damp skin.  He slid his hand to the side and found Hutch’s nipple.  He teased it with his thumb.

 

Hutch was breathing harder now.  “What are you doing?”

 

Starsky made his decision.  He pulled Hutch’s belt out of its buckle.  “Trust me.”

 

He felt Hutch jerk under his hands.  “Oh no.”

 

“Oh yes,” said Starsky determinedly.  “I’ve never done this myself, of course.  But I’ve had it done to me.  So don’t move, or you might lose something you value highly.”

 

Hutch made a small, strangled sound.

 

Starsky worked Hutch’s zipper down, carefully.  Hutch’s hands settled in his hair, not pulling or directing, just resting there, a warm, reassuring weight.

 

I’m going to give a guy a blowjob, thought Starsky.  He hesitated.  In the back of his mind he could hear the ugly jeers.  Cocksucker.  Faggot.

 

Hutch’s hands dropped to his shoulders, trying to push him back.  “Starsk...”

 

Starsky gave himself a mental shake.  This wasn’t just any guy, this was Hutch.  And nothing about Hutch was ugly.

 

“Easy,” said Starsky, talking to himself as much as to Hutch.  “I’ve got it.”  And he did.  He had Hutch right in the palm of his hand, nothing between them but thin white cotton.  Starsky pressed lightly against Hutch’s crotch and immediately Hutch’s hands moved back up to his head.

 

“Oh, God,” said Hutch, as Starsky peeled his underwear down.

 

The scent of Hutch overwhelmed everything else, slightly acrid and spicy, making it seem like there was nothing else in the world that mattered.  He was warm and heavy in Starsky’s hand, and his pubic hair curled damply around the base of his fist.  Starsky tried a first tentative lick.

 

“Fuck,” said Hutch.

 

Encouraged, Starsky continued, wrapping his mouth around the head of Hutch’s cock.  He’d never heard Hutch swear like that before, so he figured it had to be a good sign.  Maybe Hutch liked to talk dirty in bed.  This could be fun.

 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!”  Hutch’s hands tightened in Starsky’s hair.

 

Except people who liked to talk dirty didn’t usually sound so panicked about it. Starsky lifted his head.  “Wha--?”

 

“Stay down!”  Hutch abruptly sat up, shoving Starsky’s head into his crotch.

 

“Hey!”

 

“Someone’s coming!”  Hutch reached down and yanked hard on the lever, making the back of his seat pop up.

 

“Someone’s coming?”  Starsky heard himself squeak, but he didn’t care.  This was bad, very, very bad.  He couldn’t get caught with his face in Hutch’s crotch.  He struggled to sit up, and slammed the top of his head on the steering wheel.  “Ow!  Ow, ow, ow!”

 

Hutch’s hand slapped over his mouth.  “Stay there.  Be quiet.  Maybe she won’t see you,” whispered Hutch, urgently.

 

Trapped, Starsky whimpered.  A second ago he’d been hard, excited by the thought of having sex on duty.  Now terror was causing him to deflate rapidly.  Hutch, on the other hand, was having no such issues.  Starsky felt a drop of moisture on his cheek and realized that Hutch was actually leaking.

 

“Hi, Handsome Hutch,” said a sweet, Southern drawl.

 

Alice,” said Hutch.  He had both hands covering Starsky’s head now.  Starsky could hardly breathe.

 

“I suppose you’re very busy, engaged in police business,” said Alice.

 

Starsky tightened his grip on Hutch’s calf.  It was dark.  Maybe if he didn’t move, Alice wouldn’t notice him.

 

“Uh, yeah,” said Hutch, his voice cracking on the last word.  He coughed.

 

“You should take care of that throat of yours,” said Alice, sweetly.

 

Oh God, thought Starsky, is she ever going to go away?

 

“Is there something you wanted to tell us, uh, I mean, tell me?” asked Hutch.

 

“Well now, I wouldn’t normally bother you when you’re otherwise engaged,” began Alice.

 

Starsky felt the thigh under his cheek twitch and belatedly realized that he was digging his fingers into Hutch’s leg.  He forced himself to open his hand.

 

“But if you happened to notice the gentleman in the brown Chevy, he’s been a bit of a problem for the girls around here.  Rude, pushy, refuses to pay...”

 

Starsky felt Hutch deflate slightly.

 

“Has he assaulted you?” asked Hutch, his voice back to normal.

 

“No, no, nothing like that,” said Alice, with a small laugh.  “But if it wouldn’t be too much trouble to run him off the next time you see him...?”

 

“We can do that,” said Hutch.

 

“Thank you,” said Alice.  “I knew I could count on you.  Good night, Handsome Hutch.”

 

“Good night, Alice.”

 

Starsky heard the sound of her heels on the pavement.  Three steps, and then she paused.  “Oh, and Hutch?  Say hi to Starsky for me.”

 

“Shit,” whispered Hutch, after a long moment of silence.

 

Starsky cautiously lifted his head, peering over the edge of the door.  The street was empty once more.  “Do you think she saw me?”  His arms were braced on Hutch’s thighs, and his shoulders were jammed between Hutch’s chest and the steering wheel.

 

“I don’t know!”

 

“What do we do now?”

 

“Er,” said Hutch.

 

Starsky felt something warm and hard pushing against his forearm.  Hutch’s loss of libido had evidently been only a temporary condition.  He pushed himself back into his own seat and crossed his arms.  “No.”

 

“You can’t leave me like this!”

 

“Don’t give me that crap,” said Starsky.  “I’m not one of your dates.  No one’s ever died of blue balls.”

 

“It was your idea!”

 

Starsky paused.  It had been his idea, hadn’t it?  He felt his conscience twinge.

 

“Please?” said Hutch.  His hand was down in his lap now, and even though it was too dark to see, Starsky knew exactly what he was doing.  He was holding himself like he had that last time they’d shared a hotel room, his hand encircling himself, his thumb lightly rubbing the head of his cock.  Sweat would be beading on his lower lip, the way it had before, when Starsky had tried to pretend he was asleep, watching through his eye lashes, wishing he could say something, do something, just reach out and...

 

Starsky pulled in a shaking breath.  He shifted in his seat, trying to ease the constriction in his pants.

 

“Pretty please?” said Hutch, breathlessly.

 

“Only if there’s cherries on top,” said Starsky, stalling for time.

 

“You can have mine.”

 

Starsky was assailed with a sudden vision of Hutch on his knees, with not a stitch of clothing on.  He gasped, struggled for a moment, and finally managed, “What?”

 

“Christ, Starsky,” snapped Hutch.  “Will you listen?  I said you can have my cherry.  You can have me.  Any way you want me!  Now will you finish what you started?”

 

“You.”  Starsky reached over Hutch’s lap and found the seat lever.  “Are.  A.”  He yanked on it.  “Hypocrite!”  Hutch’s seat fell back, taking him with it.

 

“Hey!” said Hutch.  “You’re talking to the man who just offered you his ass!”

 

Starsky leaned over him.  “You said you didn’t want to do this.  You tried to talk me out of it.  And now you’re trying to talk me into finishing!”  He saw Hutch’s mouth open in protest, and quickly clapped a hand over it.  “And don’t give me that bull about your ass.  I know what you’re really after.  You’ll offer me yours, and then I’ll have to give you mine because fair’s fair.”

 

“That’s not--,” began Hutch, his lips moving against Starsky’s palm.

 

Starsky reached down, wrapped his hand around Hutch’s cock and squeezed.

 

“Eep,” said Hutch.

 

“This is one thing,” said Starsky, as he lowered his head.  “But that other’s not natural.  I won’t hurt you.”  He remembered a girl in Saigon and winced.  Hutch was nothing like her.  He didn’t know what he was asking for.

 

“No, no, no, uh...”  Hutch’s hands were tugging on his hair.  “Starsk, Starsky, wait!”

 

Starsky sighed, and turned his head to the side.  His nose brushed against Hutch’s stomach and he realized that even if Alice had seen nothing else, she’d seen Hutch sitting in his car with his shirt open.

 

“I lied,” said Hutch.

 

Hutch was so tense his abdomen felt like rock.  Starsky tried to knead it with one hand, willing him to relax.  “It’s okay, you don’t have to offer me anything to get me to stay.”

 

“Uh, no.  I mean I lied about giving you my cherry.”  Hutch’s chin was on his chest, as he tried to look Starsky in the eye.

 

“I know!  I said it’s okay!”  Starsky didn’t want to talk.  He wanted to get back to blowing Hutch, and then maybe Hutch could blow him.  Or give him a hand-job.  It was all good.

 

But it needed to be quick, because God only knew how long they’d be alone tonight.

 

“I don’t have a cherry, anymore,” said Hutch, tightly.

 

“I don’t care about any goddamn cherr – what?”

 

“It was university,” said Hutch, his words tumbling over each other.  “It was the sixties.  It was – he was – I mean, I know it wasn’t legal, but it didn’t seem wrong.  It’s just love, right?  Love’s never wrong, is it?”

 

Starsky folded his arms over Hutch’s abdomen and stared at him.  Hutch had loved a guy?

 

“Why should it matter whether it’s a guy or a girl?” said Hutch.  “Love is just two human beings coming together, with no barriers, no masks, nothing to hide.  It’s a revelation of two souls, naked and pure, and...”

 

Starsky wasn’t listening.  He was trying to process the idea that Hutch – his Hutch – had loved some guy, had sex with him, and had even let that guy stick his dick up his ass.  Starsky groaned and dropped his forehead onto Hutch’s chest.

 

“Starsky?” said Hutch, uncertainly.

 

“It ain’t natural,” said Starsky.  But the vision from earlier was back.  Hutch, naked, on his knees.  Starsky felt his groin contract.

 

“Monkeys do it.”

 

I’m not turned on by this, thought Starsky.  But he was.  Naked Hutch.  Hot naked Hutch.

 

“We saw them in the zoo last summer.  Remember?  We had a date with those two airline stewardesses.”

 

Only one of them was a real stewardess, thought Starsky.  But he didn’t interrupt.

 

“Do you remember the ‘World’s Largest Captive Bonobo Colony’?”

 

Starsky nodded.  Hutch’s skin was slick with sweat and he could feel chest hair sliding beneath his chin.  “Muriel got embarrassed and had to leave, but afterwards she was terrific.”

 

He felt Hutch’s chest move, as if he’d laughed silently.  “Remember those two monkeys going at it doggy-style?”

 

Starsky jabbed him with his index finger.  “That was a male and a female and they were making babies!”

 

“Females don’t have dicks, Starsky.”

 

Starsky paused.  He couldn’t be sure now what he’d seen.

 

“So it can’t be unnatural.  Not if animals do it.  I mean, what are we really?  We’re just animals with big brains.  We make a lot of rules for ourselves, numbers and labels, and we try to pretend that we’re not part of Nature, but –.”

 

“Okay,” interrupted Starsky.  “But that orangutan was eating his own puke, and we don’t do that!”

 

This time he was sure of it.  Hutch was laughing.

 

“Babe, it’s not that bad,” said Hutch.  “I liked it with Alan and I’m sure I’d love it with you.  But we don’t have to do any of that, if it’s not your bag.”

 

“Alan,” said Starsky.  He didn’t like the sound of that name.  “Alan.  Alan.  Who the hell is Alan?”

 

“He was my best friend in college,” said Hutch.  “You would have liked him.”

 

Starsky first imagined a limp-wristed poof lisping his words, and then scratched that image.  Hutch never had much time for effeminate men.  No, Alan would have had to have been big and overwhelming, taking coarse advantage of a na´ve young Hutch.  “I’d punch him in the nose.”

 

“He sent me an invitation to his wedding last year,” said Hutch, as if he hadn’t heard.  “I didn’t go.  Our lives... we don’t anything in common any more.”  He caressed the back of Starsky’s head, his fingers weaving in among the curls.  There was a tinge of regret in his voice.

 

Starsky’s image of Alan solidified.  A self-centered jerk, who wasn’t worthy of the love Hutch gave away so generously, who’d used Hutch and then discarded him and who’d then had the gall to rub his nose in it by sending him wedding invitation.

 

“And after I punched him in the nose, I’d rip his head off and spit down his neck,” said Starsky.  “I’d use his skull for a game of football.  Skip rope with his intestines.”

 

“I love you,” said Hutch.

 

“I love –.”  A guy, thought Starsky.  A guy who has sex with other guys.  A sentimental sap who can’t bring himself to arrest a prostitute.  The kind of pal who would give you the shirt off his back or the last ten bucks in his wallet.  “I love Hutch,” he said, firmly.

 

“Uh...  thank you?”  Hutch sounded confused.

 

Starsky slapped his chest.  “C’mon, let’s do this.  Let’s put the vice back in Bay City Vice.”

 

“I’m not stopping you,” said Hutch, this time with a smile in his voice.

 

Starsky lowered his head, feeling soft skin against his lips.  He licked lightly across the head of Hutch’s cock and discovered that he tasted different this time.  Salty and bitter, a faintly familiar taste.  It was like his own cum, but different.  Unique.

 

Starsky gripped Hutch more firmly and encircled him with his lips.  He tried to think of what he liked best and felt an answering throb in his own jeans as he remembered what it felt like when someone did this to him.  Using his tongue, he pushed Hutch up against the roof of his mouth and heard him groan.

 

His mouth was watering, and he used some of his saliva to make his hand slick, sliding it up and down Hutch.  Hutch’s right leg was twitching now, the muscle jumping under Starsky’s arm.  His fingers tightened on Starsky’s scalp.

 

“Oh God, Starsk.  Don’t stop.  Please don’t –.”

 

The sudden crackle of the radio nearly gave Starsky a heart attack.  He jumped and hit his head a second time on the steering wheel.  “Ow!”

 

“Dispatch to Zebra Three.”

 

Hutch grabbed the handset and fumbled it, dropping it on Starsky’s abused head.

 

“Ow, ow!  What’re you doing?”

 

“Zebra Three, come in,” said a woman’s voice, insistently.

 

Hutch was pulling on the cord, trying to find the handset.  “Where’d it go?”

 

“Goddamn it!”  Starsky sat up and was almost throttled by the cord.  “Hey!”

 

Hutch grabbed the handset and flapped his hand at Starsky, urgently signaling silence.  “Dispatch, this is Zebra Three.  We copy.”  His voice wobbled a good two octaves higher than normal.

 

“We have a report of a disturbance near the corner of Saguaro and Fifth.  One female pedestrian and a male in a brown Chevy sedan, local residents have complained of a loud argument in progress.”

 

“But we’re undercover.  Aren’t there any units available?”  Hutch stopped.  “Wait, did you say a brown Chevy?  A dirty brown Chevy?”

 

“I did say a brown Chevy,” replied the woman at Dispatch.  “I cannot confirm dirt.”

 

“Ten-four.  We’re on our way.”

 

Starsky grabbed the handset away from Hutch and unwound it from his neck before replacing it.  “We’re on our way?”

 

Hutch straightened his seat, quickly stuffing himself back into his pants.  “That has to be the same asshole Alice was telling us about.”  He started the engine and threw his car into gear.

 

Surrendering to the inevitable, Starsky fished the MARS light out from under the dash and slapped it on the roof.  He hung on as Hutch pulled away from the curb.  His car might look like hell, but it still had a fair bit of horsepower.

 

The red light flashed, reflected in the windows of the houses as they sped past.

 

“Hey!” Starsky shouted over the siren.

 

Hutch shot him a questioning glance.

 

Starsky jabbed his thumb at the roof of the car.  “I got your cherry!”

 

Hutch laughed.  He was still grinning like a maniac when they tumbled out of his car and ran past the brown Chevy into the alley where a man in a grey suit had a woman backed up against a dumpster.

 

Hutch grabbed the man’s collar and yanked him backward.  “Police!” he growled.  “Just give me an excuse.”

 

The woman had teased hair, dyed an unlikely shade of red, and one eye was already swelling shut.  As soon as she was free, she ran to retrieve a fringed leather purse and immediately began searching the ground for the spilled contents.  Starsky moved to help.  “Ma’am, was this jerk hurting you?”

 

There were tears on her cheeks.  “I did what he asked, but then he said he wouldn’t pay.  He said I was no good!”  She found a tube of lipstick and stuffed it into her purse.

 

“Ruby, do you want us to charge him with assault?” asked Hutch.

 

Of course knows her, thought Starsky.  Hutch knows all the working girls in Bay City.

 

“You’re crazy.  She’s just a whore!”  The man’s face was red and the flesh of his neck bulged over the collar of his shirt.

 

Hutch shook him until Starsky thought he could see the man’s teeth rattling in his head.  “And you’re just a sad bastard who gets his kicks out of beating up girls.”

 

Ruby didn’t answer.  She picked up a joint and started to add it to her other belongings.  Starsky reached over and plucked it out of her hand.  “I don’t think that’s yours, is it?”

 

She froze and looked at him with wide eyes.  After a moment she shook her head.

 

“I didn’t think so,” said Starsky, pocketing the joint.  He winked at Ruby, but she didn’t look reassured.

 

“You can press charges,” said Hutch, sounding hopeful.

 

Ruby shook her head again, clutching her purse to her chest.  “I just want to go home.  Please.”

 

“We can give you a lift.”

 

“No,” said Ruby, backing away.  “No, thank you.”

 

“What about money for a cab?” asked Hutch.

 

“No, I have a friend who lives close to here.”

 

She was at the mouth of the alley now, and Starsky suspected she’d start running if he made any kind of move in her direction.  “Bye, Ruby,” he said.  “I hope I don’t see you around.”

 

“You won’t!”  Ruby left with a quick clatter of heels on cement.

 

Starsky wished he could believe her.  He heard a rattle of metal on metal and turned to see Hutch shoving Ruby’s assailant up against the garbage can.  Hutch kicked the man’s feet apart and quickly patted him down, pulling his wallet from his back pocket.

 

“I didn’t do anything,” the man wailed.  He looked like a frightened rabbit now, right down to the buck teeth and small eyes.

 

“Harvey Williams,” said Hutch, reading from the driver’s license.  Taking hold of Harvey’s shoulder he spun him around and leaned in close.  “Listen up, Harvey.  My partner and I, we don’t much care for losers like you.”

 

Starsky stood behind Hutch and tried to look as if he’d like nothing better than to dismember Harvey and feed him to the fish in the bay.  It wasn’t far from the truth.

 

Harvey paled.  “I was going to pay her!”

 

Hutch ignored him.  “So here’s the deal.  We know what you look like.  We know what car you drive.  If we see you in this part of town again, or if any of the girls tell us they saw you, we’ll make your life a living hell.”

 

“But I work here!”

 

Starsky snorted, thoroughly unimpressed.  “Find a new job.”

 

“Find a new city.”  Hutch shoved the man away from himself, toward Starsky.

 

“And learn how to treat a lady right!”  Starsky kicked Harvey in the ass as he tried to scuttle past.

 

With a sob, Harvey broke into a clumsy run.

 

Starsky waited until Harvey was out of earshot, and then asked, “What now, Sherriff Hutchinson?”

 

Hutch began to walk over to his car.  “Back to staking out that corner, I suppose.  There’s still an hour left in our shift.”

 

Starsky followed him.  Out on Fifth Street he could see girls loitering on corners, and cars cruising slowly by.  It looked busy.  “Why that corner?  There’s no action.”

 

“I know,” said Hutch.

 

Starsky paused, his hand on the car door.  “You are a hypocrite!”

 

Hutch gave him a startled look over the top of his car.  “I am not!”

 

“Sure you are,” insisted Starsky, climbing inside.  “You parked us on the quietest corner you could find.”

 

Hutch started his engine.  “I assure you, it wasn’t so you could suck my dick!”

 

“Yeah, pull the other one.  It sings Dixie.”

 

Hutch laughed.  “It was a bad idea anyway.”

 

“Maybe,” said Starsky.  He looked out the window, watching the buildings pass.  When Hutch stopped his car under the burnt out street light, he said, “But here we are again.”

 

“Yeah,” said Hutch.

 

It was darker here, than in their old spot.  Starsky couldn’t see Hutch’s face at all.  “I kind of lied, too.”

 

Hutch’s hand settled on his knee.

 

“There was this girl in Saigon,” said Starsky, leaning into Hutch’s shoulder.  “She was beautiful.  Smooth skin, hair down to her waist, and a body to beat all.  Perfect in every way, except...”  He took a deep breath.  This was a secret, one of the biggest.  “Except she wasn’t a girl.”

 

When Hutch didn’t respond immediately, Starsky began talking more quickly.  “Not a real one, anyway.  I mean, I didn’t know at first, right?  It wasn’t like I picked her up because I knew she had, uh, stuff.  But she was so nice, and I didn’t want to.  Uh.  I mean, there were a lot of things she did that didn’t have anything to do with her being like that.  And okay, maybe I did do her from behind a couple times, but she always made it seem so natural –.”

 

“Breathe,” interrupted Hutch.

 

Starsky gasped for air, suddenly realizing he’d forgotten to do just that.

 

“Easy,” said Hutch.  “It’s okay.  I’m sure she was lovely.”  His hand massaged Starsky’s thigh.

 

“She was a real lady,” said Starsky.  “She was smart, too.  Could speak English and French really well.”  He felt dizzy.  “I wish...”

 

“What?”

 

“I just wish I knew what happened to her,” said Starsky.  “I went back one day and she was gone.  No one seemed to care.”

 

“I’m sorry,” said Hutch.

 

Starsky closed his eyes, feeling the warmth radiating from Hutch, the weight of his hand on his leg.  Hutch’s hand was moving rhythmically, rubbing back and forth, and Starsky felt something stir inside.  A different kind of heat began to build.

 

When Hutch stopped, Starsky said, “You can keep doing that.”

 

There was a brief pause, and then Hutch’s hand began to move again, stroking his thigh.  “You mean this?”

 

“Mm hm.”

 

“Just this?” asked Hutch.  “You sure you don’t want me to move my hand anywhere else?”  His fingers slid up toward the inside of Starsky’s thigh.

 

“Oh, that’s good, too,” said Starsky, breathlessly.

 

Hutch pulled away.  “But I don’t want to presume.  I don’t want to take advantage of you.”  His voice was teasing.

 

Starsky grabbed Hutch’s hand and clamped it over his crotch.  “For God’s sake, Hutch.  Take advantage of me.  Please!”

 

“Not like that,” said Hutch.  “Put your seat back.”

 

Put your seat back.  Just four small words, and Starsky’s cock suddenly seemed determined to drill a hole right through his zipper.  He fumbled for the lever and went over backwards with his seat.  Something heavy hit the top of his head.  Reaching up, he found a cardboard box.

 

A nasty smelling cardboard box.

 

“Hang on,” said Hutch.  “That belongs in the back.”

 

Starsky felt Hutch lean over him, and there were rustling and crunching noises as the box was lifted out of the way.  And then he heard the sound of glass bottles knocking against each other.  The smell got stronger.  It wasn’t just rotten.  It was fishy rotten, like the wharf after the commercial fishing boats came in.  “What have you got back there?”

 

“Just some antique bottles.”

 

“Full of what?  Dead fish?”

 

“Oh.  No, that’s probably the driftwood I found last week.  I think there might have been something living in it.”

 

“Yuck!”

 

Hutch wriggled backward, his breath hot on Starsky’s face.  “Are you going to hassle me about my stuff, or are you going to let me make love to you?”

 

“I love your stuff,” said Starsky, fervently.

 

Hutch muttered something about hypocrites, but Starsky didn’t care, because Hutch’s hands were back down where they belonged.

 

And then his head was, too.

 

Starsky bit his lip hard when Hutch’s mouth closed over him, hot and wet and almost too much to bear.  He shut his eyes, too, but just for a moment, because a second later Hutch’s head came up.

 

“Don’t close your eyes,” said Hutch, even though there was no way he could have known Starsky had.  “You have to keep an eye out.”

 

So Starsky opened his eyes and stared desperately into the darkness, while Hutch did things to him that made his heart pound and his breath come fast.  Every time he thought he was close, Hutch would pull back.  Sometimes all he did was lick around the base of Starsky’s cock, tugging lightly on the hair.  And sometimes Starsky felt the lightest scrape of teeth, a sharp sensation that was almost too much to bear.  He tried to push up into that teasing mouth, but Hutch threw his arm over his stomach and held him down.

 

Starsky was accustomed to being in control when it came to sex.  He’d never before experienced being managed, dominated, brought to the brink and pulled back.  “Please,” he said, half sobbing.  “Hutch, please!”

 

An entire marching band could have gone by playing their cymbals and drums and Starsky was pretty sure he wouldn’t notice.  He couldn’t even be certain he’d have noticed if it was followed by a circus with elephants and clowns.  His hands were wrapped tightly around the back of Hutch’s neck, and the only two things that existed in his universe were his cock and Hutch’s mouth.  “Please!”

 

The radio crackled loudly into life.  “Zebra Th –.”

 

Starsky grabbed the handset and yanked.

 

The radio went abruptly silent.

 

Hutch lifted his head.  “Starsky, what did you do?”

 

“I don’t know!”  Starsky stared at the mike in his hand, waiting for it to talk to him.

 

Hutch felt around for a moment and then held up the frayed end of the cord.  “You broke our radio!”

 

“I didn’t mean to!”

 

Hutch pushed himself back into his own seat and started the car.  “Come on, we’ve got to find a phone.”

 

“But, but, wait, hang on a minute,” spluttered Starsky.  His cock felt cold and exposed in the air, just sitting there bereft of Hutch’s mouth.

 

“And put that thing away,” said Hutch.  “Or I’ll have to arrest you for public indecency.”

 

“Can’t we finish first, and then find a phone?”

 

“No one’s ever died of blue balls,” said Hutch, acerbically.  He pulled away from the curb.

 

Starsky tucked himself back into his jeans, scowling.  “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you planned this just to get back at me.”  He had to arch his back to zip himself up.  He wasn’t fitting into his pants as well as he usually did.

 

“I can’t wait to hear how you’re going to explain this one to Dobey,” said Hutch.

 

“I’ll just tell him it was your fault.”

 

My fault!  You’re the one who keeps breaking things!”

 

“I haven’t broken you yet,” said Starsky, sulkily.

 

Hutch sighed.  “Let’s just find out why Dispatch was calling us.”  He pulled in next to a phone booth, glowing in the dark.

 

Starsky stayed in the car, brooding.  Hutch should thank his lucky stars Starsky didn’t believe in omens, because if he did he might start wondering if the universe was trying to tell him something.

 

His crotch was throbbing sullenly, and Starsky blamed Hutch for that.  If he’d been allowed to finish, he’d be fine right now.  If he’d been allowed to finish...  Starsky paused.  Allowed?

 

He revised his opinion of Alan.  The man hadn’t taken advantage of Hutch, it’d been the other way around.  Hutch was sneaky and dominating and cruel.  Poor Alan had just been a victim.

 

Hutch opened the car door and climbed inside.  “Thanks to our stunning incompetence tonight, we’re off duty.  Captain Jones says he’ll be talking to Captain Dobey about us.”

 

“Incompetence?”  Starsky felt his gut contract in sudden panic.  Had someone seen them?  Had Alice talked?

 

“We didn’t arrest any prostitutes.”  Hutch shrugged.  “I told Dobey Vice wasn’t the place for us.”

 

Starsky relaxed.  “We’ll get traffic duty tomorrow.  In uniform.”

 

“Vive le automobile!”  Hutch started the car.  “It’s been years since I’ve seen you in your uniform.  Does it still fit?”

 

Starsky felt the angry throbbing in his crotch subside to a pleasantly anticipatory pulse.  “We could go back to my place and find out.”  Naked Hutch, he thought.  No interruptions.

 

Hutch made a contented humming noise deep in his throat as he pulled away from the curb.

 

Starsky leaned out the window and let the night air blow past his face.  Oh baby, he thought.

 

His house was only a few minutes away.  Stepping inside his front door, however, Starsky was stricken with a sudden attack of anxiety.  It was one thing to do stuff to Hutch under the cover of darkness, but here in the glare of the hallway light, he felt exposed.  He felt more naked than he had when his pants had been open and his cock had been hanging out in the car.

 

Last night they’d had the excuse of alcohol.  Tonight?

 

Hutch glanced at him sideways, his head down.  “With malice aforethought.”

 

Yeah, thought Starsky, nodding.  That’s what it felt like.  He stuck his hands in his pockets and discovered the joint he’d taken off Ruby earlier.  All at once the absurdity of situation hit him and he snickered.

 

Holding up the battered joint, Starsky said, “Wanna get high?”

 

The tension broke.  Moron!”  Hutch grabbed the joint out of his hand, marched straight to the bathroom and flushed it.

 

Starsky kicked his shoes off and threw himself down on his bed, laughing.  Hutch paused in the doorway for a moment, looking at him with an expression of almost painful affection, before joining him.   In the corner of the room the air conditioner rattled and dripped, leaving a widening pool of water on the floor.

 

“Tell me about Alan,” said Starsky, rolling over onto his stomach.

 

“Why do you want to hear about him?” asked Hutch.  He started to undo the buttons of his shirt, then stopped and pulled it off over his head.  “For that matter, why are you still dressed?”

 

Starsky turned onto his back and began undoing his belt.  “Whose idea was it to, uh, you know?”  Memories of Saigon hovered like ghosts in the back of his mind.  He didn’t want to use Hutch the same way, but maybe it didn’t have to be like that.

 

Hutch grimaced, his eyebrows pulling together.  “I don’t know.  It just happened.”  He paused.  “Mine, probably.”

 

“And you really like it?”

 

“God, Starsk, I’m not the only one!”  Hutch quickly pulled his pants off, dropped them on the floor, and then leaned over to look Starsky in the eye.  “I can’t describe the feeling, but I can tell you it’s incredible.”

 

“Really?”

 

“Yes,” said Hutch, firmly.  “But we’re not doing it tonight.”

 

Absurdly, Starsky found himself feeling disappointed.  “Why not?”  If Hutch said it was good, then it was good.  Monkeys did it, men did it.  So they should do it, and quick, before he turned back into a big chicken.

 

Hutch grabbed the legs of his jeans and yanked them off.  “One step at a time!”

 

Starsky squirmed out of his shirt, eyeing Hutch with appreciation.  He placed one bare foot against Hutch’s stomach and clenched his toes.  Hutch leaned over him, forcing Starsky’s knee up against his chest.

 

“You started something tonight,” said Hutch, looking down at him.  “Are you going to finish?”

 

Starsky straightened his leg, pushing hard against Hutch’s stomach.  Hutch fell over beside him, making the bed bounce.  “Damn right,” said Starsky.  He sat up and reached down, taking Hutch in hand.

 

Hutch grabbed his hips and pulled.  “Get up here!”

 

Starsky obligingly wiggled around until he was straddling Hutch, their stomachs pressed together and their faces in each other’s crotches.  “Don’t make me wait,” he said.

 

“You drive too fast,” said Hutch, just before Starsky felt himself engulfed in the wet heat of his mouth.

 

“Argh.”  Starsky’s arms collapsed and his chest collided with Hutch’s abdomen.  Hutch’s cock pushed up against his ear, hard and insistent.

 

Hutch pushed up, forcing him onto his knees, moving him back into position.  Starsky struggled to focus.  He got his mouth around Hutch and tried to move his hand, but Hutch was doing things to him that destroyed his co-ordination.  All he could feel was Hutch’s tongue, a pulsing, tormenting, teasing thing.  He was so close, he felt like his whole body was humming, electric...

 

And then Hutch was pushing up into his mouth, his hips moving, and Starsky’s lips felt numb.  And then abruptly, unexpectedly the thick taste of bitter salt flooded his mouth, and Starsky started coughing.

 

“Sorry, sorry,” mumbled Hutch, his words sending impossibly good vibrations through Starsky’s crotch.

 

Starsky lifted his head, his mouth full, unsure what to do next.  The taste was overwhelming and he wanted to spit.  But Hutch wrapped his arms around his hips and pulled Starsky deeper into his mouth.  Before Starsky knew what had happened, he’d swallowed.

 

His throat contracted once in protest and then it didn’t matter.  All that mattered was what Hutch was doing to him now.  When he fell over onto his side, Hutch came with him, following him right around until he was the one on top and Starsky was on the bottom.  Starsky had an unsettlingly attractive vision of Hutch wrapped around him permanently, and then his brain shut down and the whole universe was turning around his cock.  He felt his balls tighten unbearably and he stopped breathing.

 

One perfect moment at the very apex, and then he was falling over the side with a shout of joyous surprise.

 

A moment later it was all too much, and Starsky had to push Hutch’s head away from his suddenly too-sensitive flesh.  “Ow!  I’m done!”  His eyes stung, and he could feel water on his face.  Sweat or tears, he couldn’t tell the difference.

 

Hutch sat up, wiping his mouth.  “Was it worth the wait?”  Damp hair clung to his scalp, and his cheeks were pink.

 

“You turned me inside out,” said Starsky, breathlessly.  He could still taste Hutch in his mouth.  “I swallowed!”

 

Hutch smiled.  “I lo–.”

 

The phone on the table beside Starsky’s bed rang, making them both jump.

 

Starsky covered his face with both hands.  “I’m not here!”

 

“If you’re not here, then neither am I,” said Hutch, glaring at the phone.

 

“Great, we’re both not here.”

 

They stared at the phone as it rang again.

 

“But it might be important,” said Starsky, finally.

 

“And we shouldn’t put sex before duty,” said Hutch.

 

“But we will sometimes,” said Starsky, as he reached for the phone.  “When it’s hot outside.”

 

~end~

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